Bruiser: A Lonely Housewife Embarks on a Passionate Affair with an Alpha Male MMA Fighter

by Scarlet, Simone

  “Oh, fuck,” Brandon released her immediately, and backed off himself. “I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Cassidy. I didn’t mean to…”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Ava’s cheeks burned red. “I just didn’t want you to, y’know, get the wrong impression or anything.”

  “No, no,” Brandon shook his head. “I just… That was…”

  “No need to explain.” Fanning herself, Ava grabbed her bag again. “I-I need to get home.”

  “Sure, sure,” Brandon nodded, and watched her make for the door.

  But before she left, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  Ava was wrenched to a halt.

  Nervously, she turned and looked up into Brandon’s wide, brown eyes.

  “Mrs. Cassidy,” he stammered. “Ava. Just so you know… I don’t do stuff like that.” His cheeks burned red. “I’m not, like… You know – hitting on all the moms, or anything.”

  “It’s okay, Brandon,” Ava said. “Forget about it. I’ll see you for kickboxing tomorrow, okay?”

  Brandon nodded: “Okay.”

  And with a deep breath, Ava left.

  “I promise,” Brandon repeated, calling after her. “I’m not the weird kid who hits on all the cute moms.”

  But by then she’d climbed into her Buick and gunned the engine, already peeling out of the parking lot.

  Brandon watched her go with a sigh.

  Idiot, he told himself. What had he done?

  It wasn’t that hitting on Ava had been a bad idea. She was cute, and curvy. Kind of like somebody had got a full-length picture of Monica Bellucci and squished the aspect ratio. He thought she was adorable.

  But she was married. And even if she wasn’t, he already had more than enough to worry himself in that regard.

  And, as if reading his mind, Brandon’s phone buzzed.

  He picked it up, and looked at the message on screen.

  MIA

  Hey, honey. Thinking of you. XXX

  Brandon closed his eyes, and sighed.

  That was exactly the sort of trouble he was thinking about.

  Chapter Seven

  Ava

  Ava tore through the darkness in her Buick Enclave, hands trembling as the gripped the wheel.

  How could she have been so fucking stupid?

  Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her mouth was dry. She had butterflies churning in her stomach.

  She also felt a throb between her legs.

  Goddammit, she swore at herself. That was her kid’s karate instructor! He was ten years younger than her! She shook her head in horror. What must he think of her? Some old broad hitting on him.

  Although, Ava told herself, technically he was the one who’d tried to kiss her.

  And she’d said ‘no.’

  So, no harm done, right?

  Right?

  Within minutes, Ava was pulling into the driveway of her townhouse. She cut the engine of the Buick, and sat in the darkness for a moment or two, taking deep breaths.

  Looking in through the window, it was clear the lights were off.

  Clark was probably in bed. He had to be up in a few hours, so she could hardly blame him.

  And this way, at least, she didn’t have to confront him with the rosy glow of guilt on her cheeks.

  Throwing open the car door, Ava crept inside.

  The house was cool and dark as she let the front door click shut behind her. The only light came from the rows of comic book figurines, on display above the fireplace. Figures like Batman and Captain America stood frozen in place, with eyes or insignia lit by powerful little LED bulbs.

  Her husband’s collection. Both impressive, and a little embarrassing.

  With a sigh, Ava threw her bag off her shoulder, and slithered out of her coat. Then she did what she always did when she got home late – the rounds.

  First it was up to the kid’s room, to check on on Lex and Harley. The opened the doors and peered in, to see her son and daughter each sleeping peacefully, bathed in the glow of their DC Super Friends night lights.

  Then she opened the door to her bedroom, and peered in.

  A bush of reddish hair was all that Ava could see of Clark. He was snoring softly, a great, big lump under the blankets.

  She sighed.

  Right now, half of her wanted to crawl into bed with him. To wrap her arms around his big, round belly and snuggle into his broad back and fall asleep next to the man she called her ‘teddy bear.’

  But she felt antsy.

  Tense.

  But, more than that, she felt.

  For the last five years, Ava had been a stay at home mom, balancing diapers and vacuuming. Sometimes her only adult interaction was when the mail man came.

  Now Lex was old enough to go to karate, she’d had the opportunity to get out of the house and interact with adults again – in fact, she loved taking classes at the karate center herself. Back when she’d been at college, she’d dated a guy who did MMA, and sparring with him had been exciting, fun and sexy. The classes at BB Martial Arts Center reminded her of those days.

  But what had happened tonight – that electric exchange between her and Brandon. That had been something else.

  That had awoken feelings in her that she hadn’t felt for a long time. Certainly not since long before she’d met Clark. She hadn’t felt like that since her college boyfriend.

  Ava shivered again.

  And then a wild and reckless impulse over took her.

  Glancing around the darkened corridor guiltily, Ava started peeling off her clothes – kind of like she did every night before bed.

  But, this time, she crept back downstairs, into the living room.

  Tossing her pants on the floor, and peeling herself out of her tank top, she flopped down on the couch in nothing but her panties.

  Then, closing her eyes, she slid a hand down over her belly, and under the elastic waistband of her panties.

  In her head, she remembered the exchange she’d had with Brandon. The hug.

  The feeling of his big, powerful body wrapped around hers. The feel of his huge hands on her shoulders. The intense look in his eyes and he looked down at her, about to pucker his lips for a kiss.

  Groaning, Ava imagined what it would feel like for his lips to press against hers.

  And, as she pictured that, she slid her hand into her panties, and her fingertips slid through her pubic hair, until they found the lips of her pussy.

  Ava lay on the couch, imagining making out with Brandon, and slithered her fingers between the lips of her pussy. She was already wet.

  Swirling her fingertips around her clitoris, Ava imagined more… The feeling of Brandon’s weight, crushing down on top of her. The feel of his skin under her palm – that delightful combination of hard muscle and soft, meaty bulk.

  “Huuuungh…”

  God, she hadn’t… y’know… touched herself in years. But at the thought of what might have been… She couldn’t stop herself.

  Ava imagined everything… The thought of pulling that sweat t-shirt off over Brandon’s head. Of pulling off her yoga pants. Of the feel of cold vinyl under her bare ass as the big, bear-like man pinned her to the floor and thrust inside of her.

  “Fuuuuuck!”

  And, like that, Ava climaxed on the couch.

  Seconds later, as her heart stopped pounding, the housewife opened her eyes and found herself back in reality.

  Lying on the couch in her underwear, hand stuffed down her panties – the eyes of dozens of Marvel and DC superheroes silently judging her from the shelves above the fireplace.

  “What,” Ava murmured to herself, “has gotten into me?”

  Chapter Eight

  Brandon

  With a groan, Brandon opened his eyes.

  “Yo! B!”

  Staring him right in the eye, just inches from his face, was his old friend Vinnie Del Priore.

  “Yo!” the Italian barked again, and then reached over and patted Brandon playfully on the cheek. �
�I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Where have you been?”

  Brandon yawned.

  He was sprawled out on the leather couch in the kid’s playroom of the karate center. The sunlight was streaming through the windows, and without glancing at his cell phone, Brandon guessed it was around eleven o’clock in the morning.

  “I was just taking a nap between classes,” the big man groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He scratched his head. “I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

  “Well, you look like shit, man.”

  And Vinnie Del Priore would know. He had some basis for comparison.

  A slick little sports promoter, Vinnie had represented Brandon through high school and college – setting him up with MMA bouts and matches all through sophomore through final year. About half the trophies lining the walls of Brandon’s office came as a result of bouts Vinnie had instigated.

  When Brandon had quit to pursue his law degree, he’d stopped working with the well-dressed Italian – but they’d kept in contact. For some reason, Brandon always knew he’d need his fast-talking friend again.

  Now might be the occasion.

  “Did you sleep here last night?” Vinnie sniffed the air suspiciously, as Brandon hauled himself to his bare feet. “It sure smells like it.”

  “Yeah,” Brandon nodded. “I’m staying with my parents at the moment. I was here last night – figured my first class was at 5am.” He shrugged. “Why bother going back? I’m gonna sleep on a couch in either case, and this one’s a foot longer.”

  Vinnie nodded.

  The little Italian was poking around Brandon’s karate school – looking at the faded paintwork, and the crayon pictures pinned on the walls.

  “So this is your place, eh?” Del Priore mused.

  Brandon nodded proudly.

  “It’s a fucking dump.”

  “Hey!”

  Vinnie wheeled around and smirked. Ever since he’d known him, Brandon had admired that smirk – it was the only thing that stopped his friend getting punched in the face a lot.

  “Yo, no offense, B,” Vinnie shrugged. “It’s just… Kinda run down. Shitty location.” He sniffed the air. “And it smells.”

  “I’m working on all of that,” Brandon promised. “When I got it off the old owners, they’d let it go to shit. I’m rebuilding it all.”

  “Well, God bless ya’, kid – ‘cos you got your work cut out for you.”

  Brandon narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t called Vinnie here for him to state the obvious.

  As if reading his mind, Vinnie asked: “So why’d you drag me down here? Traffic was a bitch.”

  “I need your help, Vinnie.”

  “I ain’t in the habit of lending money no more – not to a friend, anyway.”

  “I don’t need money,” Brandon growled. “Well, I do. But I want to earn it myself.” He padded into the lobby, where a six-hour old pot of coffee was sitting. He poured himself a cup. “I need to raise some money, quick, to keep this place in business.”

  Vinnie stood silently. That was one of the most effective tricks he pulled – it always forced people to divulge more than they’d intended to.

  But Brandon was wise to his tricks.

  “Forget why I need the money,” he snapped. “Just tell me if you can think of where I can get some.”

  He shrugged. “I know I’ve been off the circuit for a while, but there must be something I can do to raise some quick cash. Training? Instruction. Shit, I’ll give massages if you need me to.”

  Vinnie laughed, shaking his head.

  “It was a weird fucking coincidence you calling me up,” he admitted, “because I’d been thinking of reaching out to you anyway. You still watch the fights?”

  “Of, course,” Brandon shrugged. “I’m at Buffalo Wild Wings, every Saturday night.”

  “So you’ve heard of James MacDonald?”

  “The British Bulldog?” Brandon nodded. “I know him. That was a hell of a bout he had against Hannibal Alexander last month.”

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You heard what happened to Baller?”

  ‘Baller’ was the nickname for Hannibal Alexander – an African American fighter who was trying to earn himself a Tupac reputation despite his Huxtable upbringing.

  “I heard he got shit-canned for three months for picking a fight with MacDonald in a hotel lobby,” Brandon shrugged.

  “It’s more than that,” Vinnie grinned. “The MMA committee overturned the results of his fight with MacDonald – probably because the Scottish bastard wiped the floor with him when they threw down in the Hilton. Kind of threw the original decision into question.”

  Brandon narrowed his eyes.

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  Vinnie’s grin widened.

  “Brother, they’re looking for a rematch. To throw MacDonald back in the ring with somebody to replace Baller.” He winked. “I was going to pitch ‘em you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Brandon

  Fifteen minutes later, they were at IHOP, and Brandon was pouring maple syrup over two stacks of pancakes.

  “Pancakes? For lunch?”

  “Mmmugpogh,” was Brandon’s response, as he shoveled the buttermilk deliciousness into his mouth. Vinnie was paying, so he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to eat.

  Vinnie grinned.

  “So here’s the deal,” he explained. “The MMA commission is looking for a new contender. An unheard of. Someone with a story.”

  Washing down his mouthful with a glass of milk, Brandon scoffed, “Vinnie. I haven’t fought in nearly three years – and I was hardly circuit material back then. Why the fuck would they want me?”

  “’Cos I told ‘em about you,” Vinnie explained, tucking into his steak. “I mean, shit, Bruiser. You were a goddamned machine in the octagon, back in the day. If you hadn’t quit on me to go study law, you could have been wearing a big, gold belt by now.”

  Brandon snorted, “And they’re offering championship fights based on third-party recommendations now?”

  Vinnie shook his head.

  “Stop being a wise-ass. Your reputation got your name on the list. The shit with the karate school – the retarded kids, shit like that…”

  “Special needs,” Brandon growled, correcting him.

  “Yeah, that,” Vinnie nodded. “That’s the story they wanted.” He gulped down a mouthful of sirloin. “They ate that up.”

  Brandon chewed thoughtfully.

  “They’d get a video crew out here,” Vinnie continued. “Film you and the retar… the special needs kids. Make you come across real good – just a small-town boy, trying to make it running a martial arts school.”

  He swigged his coffee.

  “Compared to MacDonald – he’s all upper-class, Downton Abbey shit – you’ll come across as a goddamned all-American hero.”

  Brandon shook his head.

  “Vinnie, I’m flattered man,” he admitted. “But I haven’t fought in three years. I’m good – I’m really fucking good – but he’ll kick my ass.”

  Vinnie snorted.

  “Two things, friend,” he reached over and squeezed Brandon’s arm. “First off, give yourself some credit. You run a goddamned karate school. You’re out doing punches and kicks and coaching black belt students eight hours a day, every fucking day. You might not have fought in three years – but it’s not like you’re out of fucking practice.”

  Brandon listened silently.

  “And secondly? It doesn’t fucking matter.”

  Brandon blinked.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter if you lose. So fucking what? You get paid anyway.” Vinnie leaned in. “Five fucking grand. Just for turning up. Even if that Scottish bastard lays you flat in the first ten seconds.”

  Brandon listened. He knew how fights worked. You got paid twice – once for simply turning up. Then again if you won.

  And, as if reading his mind, Vinnie nodded
.

  “It’s not as much as Baller would have got paid,” he explained, “but because you’re the underdog, they’d pay you $10,000 if you win.”

  That was a big ‘if’.

  But what wasn’t a big ‘if’ was that promise of five thousand dollars.

  It wouldn’t bail the karate school out – but it would keep the wolf from the door for at least a month or two. Maybe that would be enough time for Brandon to recruit some new students and turn things around.

  And all he’d have to do would be turn up. Turn up and get his ass kicked.

  Brandon had never let anybody kick his ass in his life. But for five grand? And the possibility of saving his karate school?

  He might just be willing to do it.

  Looking up into Vinnie’s bright, brown eyes, Brandon said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ava

  As Ava bulled her Buick Enclave to a halt in the parking lot of BB Martial Arts Center, she realized her hands were trembling.

  Goddammit.

  The flustered housewife took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. As she clambered out of the tall car, and busied herself unstrapping Lex and Harley from their car seats, she tried to rationalize how ridiculous these feelings were.

  It was all going to be cool.

  She was going to walk into the karate school, and look Brandon in the eye, and it would be like nothing happened.

  Right?

  “Are you okay, Mommy?” Harley asked, and Ava forced herself to smile, and squeezed her daughter’s hand, and led both her kids inside.

  * * *

  It was a typical afternoon at the karate center. Kids were running around, half in classes, half in the playroom. Stay-at-home moms milled about drinking the complimentary coffee and chatting, and more than a few of them were following Brandon around like lovesick puppies, as he chatted to each parent with forced confidence.

  Ava watched him from across the room, as he patted the shoulder of one overweight mom, and then encouraged another to join his cardio kickboxing class.